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by nyehehz



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (frisk), (metta canonically goes from genderless to male and thus is trans), Adorable Papyrus (Undertale), Awkward Flirting, Canon LGBTQ Character, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon Trans Character, Drabble, Everyone Is Gay, Flirting, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Frisk (Undertale), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Frisk (Undertale), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Magic, Pansexual Character, Pansexual Papyrus (Undertale), Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Protective Papyrus (Undertale), Queer Themes, Self-Indulgent, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Mettaton (Undertale), Younger Brother Papyrus (Undertale), also feat. me trying to write papyrus as smart as he is in canon, author is lgbt+, bc some ppl seem to forget that he's a smart boy tm, he's just a tad feral but that's ok, i'm leaving this open-ended bc i wanna continue it maybe at some point, paps is whipped for every cute boy he sees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyehehz/pseuds/nyehehz
Summary: Unlike humans, monsters don’t consider “cishet” to be a default.





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**Author's Note:**

> this is 100% an excuse to write trans mettaton & pan papyrus in our good year 2019
> 
> i went to (and was part of) my first pride parade this year, and role-playing as papyrus online helped me figure out i liked he/him pronouns n such, so ig u could count this as a sort of celebration!
> 
> non-binary paps is also probably a thing that'll happen if i continue this, jsyk!! (he still uses he/him, though, for the sake of simplicity, and also bc enbies can use he/him too)
> 
> oh also papyrus speaks with completely normal grammar bc it's easier to write AND read bhvcjkhbvchnjb

Monsters don’t consider “cishet” to be a default.

It’s one of the things that Frisk hadn’t really noticed during their trek through the underground, but certainly came to realise once they’d begun moving the monsters to the surface; it was very, very rare for monsters to refer to one another with gendered terms.

Toriel calls herself a mother, and uses more feminine terms to describe herself; Sans and Papyrus are brothers, and more on the masculine side of things, as far as words went; Mettaton, despite presenting in a less traditionally masculine way, preferred being called a man than anything else - and yet despite all these things, there were some who didn’t really fall into such categories.

Napstablook used they/them, just like Frisk, and the topic of gender never even seemed to occur to them; Monster-kid was never a boy or a girl, just a kid; Chara was always just Chara, Asriel’s sibling and Toriel’s child.

Furthermore, Alphys and Undyne’s relationship was never even briefly seen as strange, and, although Frisk hadn’t spent much time with those two royal guardsmen, they were certain they would’ve heard of it if any homophobia had come their way. Their relationships had been treated just as people treated Toriel and Asgore, or when Sans got a little flirty with a pretty monster at Grillby’s.

And so it began to occur to Frisk, eventually, that maybe monsters didn’t have the same categories as humans. They’ve never really thought to ask.

* * *

They aren’t really surprised that Mettaton is the first to stumble upon humanity’s terrible, terrible tendency to box things up, and hate things that they don’t understand. It’s not really a secret, ever since he’d discovered the wonder of pride, that Mettaton identifies somewhere along the lines of transgender - “Ghosts don’t really identify with genders, darling,” he’d explained once, “but I do. I’m a man. I always have been, it just took me a while to notice.”

He handles it with the same nonchalant manner that he handles any regular hater - blows them a kiss, waggles his fingers at them, smirks in that way that makes their blood boil - and yet Frisk can tell it infuriates him, from the way his face scrunches up when they’ve driven out of view.

Papyrus is driving, and he looks back at Mettaton through the car’s mirror, but says nothing. The silence only serves to make Frisk more antsy, as Papyrus’ eye-sockets narrow slightly, and Mettaton huffs, smoothing one hand down his front as if working creases out of his casing.

“No offence, Frisk, dear,” he says at last, voice a little strained, “but I am decidedly not the biggest fan of humanity right now.”

Frisk laughs a little, in that halfhearted way that people laugh when nothing really funny happens, and leans a little against his side, as if to comfort him. “I don’t like them either,” they mutter, smiling a little bitterly. “They don’t get people like us.”

It feels weird, to group Mettaton and themself together in such a way, but he seemingly finds no issue with it, huffing again and moving to lay his hand on their head in a comforting manner. His hands are pretty decently big - at least, compared to Frisk’s little hands, and his own noodle arms - and warmer than you’d expect, and Frisk smiles at the gesture. “They will someday, darling. They’ll realise how magnificent we are.”

They catch Papyrus’ gaze in the mirror, and smile at him too. They aren’t sure if he’s smiling back, only being able to see the upper half of his face, but his eye-sockets are less squinted, and he’s not gripping the wheel as tensely.

* * *

So, naturally, they keep their eye on Papyrus from that point onward.

They know better, after the underground, than to think badly of Papyrus - he’s sweeter than he has any right being, really - and thus it’s not really any sort of uncertainty or fear that peaks their interest, but rather the way he tenses in the face of bigotry.

Papyrus has never been one to shy away from defending people, and Frisk had learnt that the hard way, as they’d had to repeatedly drag the tall skeleton away from his instinct to challenge any bully to a duel - so it was very, very noticeable, when a yell from the streets managed to make him go silent, or when he’d simply freeze up without a word until they left.

They thought to ask Sans about it at first, and then immediately felt bad about even considering it. Papyrus was old enough to make his own decisions - still kinda young by monster standards, but there were other monsters his age getting hitched and having kids, so treating Papyrus like a child (as some had a tendency to do, when met with his sunny personality) was doing him more of a disservice than anything. He was smart, and could be well-spoken, and so they decided not to take the coward’s way out and instead to just ask him directly.

“Do you remember those men that yelled at Metta?” they quietly inquire one morning, watching Papyrus pour his cereal across the room. The skeleton pauses for a moment, eye-sockets flashing with those little dots of light that meant he was thinking, and only seems to start moving again when his bowl nearly overflows with milk.

“Of course I remember, little human.” he smiles at them over his shoulder, moving over to the fridge to retrieve some juice. “The Great Papyrus is _not_ a goldfish, and thus has a _wonderfully _long memory!”

_Goldfish?_ Frisk shakes the metaphor out of their head, and continues. “Well, uhm, I noticed, whenever people act like that about those sorts of things - identity things - you kind of…” their voice trails off a little, watching Papyrus’ smile waver a tad. “...don’t act like usual, y’know? Get… quieter.”

A hum. The monster gathers his bowl in one hand and his glass in the other, bare bones clicking against the surfaces, and sits in the chair opposite Frisk in one swift motion - Papyrus is good at doing things quickly and neatly, as loud and wild as he may be. His eye-sockets are glittering again, little bursts of light that used to make Frisk shiver (but now only make them smile), and he leans back a little, shrugging.

“I am not used to-” a pause. He runs his fingers across the table. “The surface has such _different_ troubles. Things that were never problems before are suddenly problems now.” He exhales, softly, and moves to pick up his spoon. “I can deal with being hated, little one, but not for those things.”

They nod, and change the topic to something sweeter, and don’t notice exactly what he said until later.

* * *

They never need to ask what he meant, including himself in that statement; Undyne elbows them next week at the beach, and jerks her head to the side, smirking. Frisk follows her gaze and soon finds themself smirking too.

Papyrus is blushing a little in that cute magical way that skeletons blush, and his eye-sockets are sparkling again, and he’s talking a little too fast, flustered - and the man he’s talking to laughs, takes him gently by the wrist, and writes a series of numbers down his radius in colourful marker. Papyrus’ blush spreads until he’s practically a fidgeting lightbulb, still stammering over his words - and Sans, who had been standing by with a fond, brotherly look on his face, takes him by the other wrist and pulls him away.

Frisk makes sure to look as if they weren’t watching, even when Papyrus stumbles over, still burning bright, and insists on telling Undyne about the pretty human boy who gave him his number.

**Author's Note:**

> pretty please tell me if you like this at @neutroisfive on tumblr


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